Warfair
by Tehri
Summary: Arthur suffers through the Second World War, knowing what has to be done, knowing that he mustn't break.


_**Author's Note: Song used is "Warfair" by Clawfinger. Awesome song, and it really makes me think...**_

_**

* * *

**_

Arthur looked at Alfred; true, he could understand that the boy was furious. So many were, after that damned attack, so many meant that Japan had gone too far by attacking Pearl Harbour. But was it really as bad as the Blitz? Alfred had decided to finally join the war, to the delight of some. But all the personification of England could think of was that the boy did not need more war. Not now. He shouldn't have to see what was happening, he shouldn't be bothered. But now he was involved, and there was no going back. And it did not seem like the United States of America would ever want to go back now. He was furious, and he needed to direct that anger somewhere, and the war was perfect...

And truly, he did a good job. But it certainly did not mean that Arthur wanted him there. He was grateful for the help they received, but he felt that the boy should have remained in his own country; he should not have gotten involved like he did during the First World War. The lad was in no way inexperienced, but he should just not have to see it.

But after one of the shorter meetings the Allies held, Arthur grabbed Alfred, took him to the side and asked him why he fought, why he got involved in all this.

"Because I just want to fight."

Those words, said with that usual damned smile, made Arthur stare at him in shock. How could the brat say something like that?! How could he act like war was something _fun_?!

* * *

_Do you know how it feels to be down in the dirt,_

_With a bullet in your breast and blood on your shirt?_

_Lying in a blood pool, down in a pit,_

_Covered with the corpse and the blood and the shit?_

_How does it feel to have a gun at your head,_

_When you know that you'd be much better off dead?_

_Looking right down through the barrel of a gun;_

_Don't try to tell me that you think it's fun!_

_

* * *

_

Arthur would not give up on this; how could he, when his soldiers were fighting, when his people were dying? They needed him more than ever, and he would be there for them; he'd be there to guide them, he'd be there to help them. And he would be there after the war as well, helping them rebuild their homes, helping everyone who had lost something. He thought of the house he had on the countryside, the house he had allowed children to stay in until the war was over. He had seen these children every day before the Blitz, due to that they lived on the same street in London as he; he had spoken to their mothers, told them of the house, told them that their children would be safe there. If they wished, they could go there as well. He just did not want to see them die...

His soldiers were already dying. He didn't want to see their children die as well, or their wives and girlfriends... They were his people; he wanted them all to be safe. But sometimes, when he came to the front and spoke with some soldiers, he wondered what they were thinking. Some felt despair and believed that the Allies would lose, that the war would be lost. But others were confident in their strength, and meant that they would win... Could one win a war? Was it possible? Everyone lost something in this. Families were shattered, innocents were killed... Arthur had started to doubt that a war could really be won. He thought of the soldiers who seemed confident about being rewarded for their efforts in the war; no, he thought of one young man in particular, who had been quite badly wounded but who was also still in high spirits.

"Who knows, perhaps I'll get a medal," the lad had laughed.

But Arthur only looked at him with bitter eyes.

"It's not worth anything if you die," he replied softly, making the boy blink in surprise. "If you die, what's a medal worth? It'll just be something your family can look at to think of how you died in battle. It won't be worth anything to you if you're already gone. Do you think they'd remember you forever because you were given a medal? You'd be forgotten quickly, my lad... Just another soldier who died." A grim smile came to his lips, and he placed his hand on the man's shoulder. "So make sure that you live, alright? No matter what happens, make sure that you survive this hell."

* * *

_Praying for your mercy, don't say you see the light!_

_What difference does it make if the good lord's right?_

_At the end of a war, the survivors are none,_

_Because a war is a loss, a war can't be won!_

_You're just another soldier, and you're doing the dying!_

_You're a symbol of a nation, so boy, stop crying!_

_Hero of a war, such a man, so brave;_

_A medal's worth nothing when you're lying in your grave!_

_

* * *

_

The war was nothing but pain to him, despite what he showed to his Allies. France believed that he was just on edge, since his temper was worse than usual. China and Russia occasionally pointed out that he seemed very tense. But America hit his head on the nail, without knowing it.

"What's wrong, England," he asked during another meeting, frowning as he eyed the island nation. "You're so tense... And you don't look anyone in the eye anymore when you talk to them. Losing confidence, eh?"

Emerald eyes began to flare as they looked up from the paper they had been looking at earlier; naturally, the boy was right. Arthur did absolutely not want them to see that he was in pain. While he could disguise it in his body language, his eyes always showed so clearly what he felt. If he looked them in the eye as he spoke, they'd see it, and he couldn't allow it. This was a time when he had to stay strong.

"I am not losing confidence, America," he replied quietly. "I just don't see how you can act so _happy_ when there is a war raging around us. How can you keep up that cheery attitude despite the fact that you _know_ how people are dying? You know that they suffer, and yet you always act like nothing is wrong. You can't take a single moment to just think about it, can you?" He pushed back his chair as he stood up. "I'm going. I want to speak a bit more to my soldiers."

* * *

_Do you know the pain?_

_Marching into history, marching into war!_

_Can you feel the shame?_

_Marching into misery, you function as a whore!_

_Do you know the pain?_

_Marching into history, marching into war!_

_Can you feel the shame?_

_Warfair! Warfair!_

_

* * *

_

The times Arthur watched the soldiers that would soon be sent out to the front, he kept wondering if they knew what they were going into. There was a significant difference in hearing about it and actually being there to see it. There was a difference in hearing someone tell you what you should do in a situation, and then actually have to do it. No room for mistakes; hesitate for a moment, and you're dead.

He could never help but think that they were all so very young. Too young to see something like this. But despite this thought, he actually trained with some of them every now and then; when he found the time. It seemed like they appreciated it, since the only thing they knew about him was that he held a very high rank. They liked having one of the high-ranked officers there to tell them about what was waiting; they wanted to know what was happening. And they liked to see what these officers could do. Arthur was more than happy to show them just how ruthless he could be when he tried, just how difficult it was to defeat him in an actual vicious fight. They did not have much time before they were going to be sent out, but he would make the most of it, just to make sure that they knew how he counted on them.

"You're all sorely needed," he told one of them one morning, a vague smile on his lips. "Believe me when I say that... But I suppose I need to go now... Perhaps I'll see you again." He patted the man's shoulder. "Good luck, lad... You'll need it."

* * *

_Five o'clock in the morning, and they shout out your name,_

_But they don't really care, 'cause you all look the same!_

_Now, this is the army and we train to kill!_

_Our job is to give you that fighting will!_

_So get off your knees and stand straight like a man!_

_Do I have to tell you twice to make you understand?_

_Freedom has a price, and that price is blood!_

_So chase the motherfucker right down in the mud!_

_Do you know the pain?_

_Marching into history, marching into war!_

_Can you feel the shame?_

_Marching into misery, you function as a whore!_

_Do you know the pain?_

_Marching into history, marching into war!_

_Can you feel the shame?_

_Do you know the pain?_

_Marching into history, marching into war!_

_Can you feel the shame?_

_Marching into misery, you function as a whore!_

_Do you know the pain?_

_Marching into history, marching into war!_

_Can you feel the shame?_

_Warfair! Warfair! Warfair! Warfair!_

_

* * *

_

The actual war made him want to die himself. Being on the front, even though he knew that he could call for aid from his allies, always made him nauseous and frightened. But he knew that he would have to ignore it and keep going, if he was going to protect his people. He was England, and he would not fall in a war like this. He had suffered through the Hundred Years' War, and countless other wars. He was not going to fall just because Germany's boss wanted to drag the world down and rub their faces in the dirt.

_Not even Rome could keep you_, he told himself as he fired yet another shot. _You are England. You are Britannia. You are Albion. They will not take you down. You have lived through worse things than this. No one has ever taken your pride away, and it will not happen now either. So fight, fight! For your people! For your freedom! For your past, for your present and your future! Keep fighting, force them back!_

The fairies could not help him now. And his siblings were desperately trying to stay alive as well. Scotland had managed to get close enough for the combat he preferred, and he swung his axe with all his might, a fierce war cry piercing through the air. Wales howled wildly as a bullet grazed his arm and got more violent than before; he would not be taken down so easily either. Ireland was not there, having declared himself neutral. He did not need to fight, and Arthur felt strangely grateful for this. He didn't want to worry about that man as well.

A young soldier hesitated to shoot, and Arthur forced him to duck as bullets whistled over their heads.

"Just shoot," he growled. "You can't hold back now, boy!"

"B-but I..." The boy's eyes were wide and filled with fear. "I... I don't think... I can't..."

Despite the sympathy that burned in his heart, Arthur gave the boy a quick slap.

"Don't say it," he said harshly. "You can. Anyone can. To say that you couldn't kill a man is nothing but hypocrisy. It's in our nature, our blood, no matter how much we deny it."

Once again, he pulled the boy to his feet, forcing him to continue. He knew how the boy must feel, but there was no time for this anymore. No time. They had to fight if they wanted to live, if they ever wanted to return to their homes.

* * *

_Ignore all your feelings, just go all the way!_

_If you don't, then death is the price you'll have to pay!_

_This ain't peace and love, no man, this is war!_

_So don't even ask what you're fighting for!_

_Just search and destroy, never question a lie!_

_You don't want to bite the bullet, boy, you don't want to die!_

_Don't try to tell me that you couldn't kill a man!_

_That's a load of fucking bullshit, boy, I know you can!_

_Do you know the pain?_

_Marching into history, marching into war!_

_Can you feel the shame?_

_Marching into misery, you function as a whore!_

_Do you know the pain?_

_Marching into history, marching into war!_

_Can you feel the shame?_

_Do you know the pain?_

_Marching into history, marching into war!_

_Can you feel the shame?_

_Do you know the pain?_

_Marching into misery, you function as a whore!_

_Can you feel the shame?_

_

* * *

**Reviews are always very welcome! :3**  
_


End file.
